


The Bucket List

by raiast



Series: The Bucket List [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Curious Will, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Secretive Hannibal, Secrets and Intrigue, kink discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: After settling down in Cuba, things seem effortless between Will and Hannibal. Until, that is, Will feels that Hannibal is hiding something from him. There's a curious piece of paper making an appearance, and Hannibal is constantly taking a pen to it to make adjustments. Will, understandably, won't rest until he discovers the secrets contained within.





	The Bucket List

The fall had been a rough one. Their convalescence...extensive. The elusion from the FBI, by comparison, was a cake walk. It almost made Will embarrassed to have been linked with the organization once upon a time. They traveled by boat--a simple, familiar task for Will, an altogether nearly insurmountable feat for Hannibal (the man went absolutely stir crazy within a week with so little space to prowl and no pigs to hunt, and who would have ever guessed the fearsome Chesapeake Ripper would be prone to _seasickness_?).

They settled in Cuba. Will was nervous to remain so close to the States. Hannibal was ready to get off the damn boat, risk of extradition be damned.

It wasn’t long after they purchased their reclusive, albeit ostentatious, villa (by way of Chiyo and some _very_ secret accounts on Hannibal’s part), that Will and Hannibal fell into a comfortable rhythm. Hannibal, being Hannibal, was up and making breakfast every morning before Will stirred. During the day Hannibal would swim, Will would sometimes take the boat (a smaller vessel, having exchanged their getaway vehicle upon arriving to port) out to fish. Lunch was a casual affair, often simple sandwiches or light salads which they would eat either together in silence or alone, depending on their plans for the day. Hannibal was quick to procure a harpsichord. Will would tie lures. They both spent the evenings after dinner in the study where Will would read and Hannibal would sketch more often than not.

It was simple. It was easy. It was not to last long before their routine would be thrown into chaos by one impulsive gesture.

The first part of the day had played out as any other until mid-afternoon, when Will found himself utterly restless. He began and ceased many different activities: started a lure only to find himself staring at his materials dissatisfied (though what, in particular, he was looking for he couldn’t say), sat down to pick up his reading only to find himself scanning through the same passage multiple times before realizing that he was absorbing none of the content. He briefly considered taking a swim in the ocean and thought about scratchy sand clinging to his damp body, the itch of the saltwater drying on him, necessitating a shower afterwards, and discarded that notion as well. The exhaustion of his seemingly endless options was what led him to seek out Hannibal, predictably in the kitchen, preparing for dinner.

“Need a hand?” Will was proud that he sounded casual, helpful, not at all dying of boredom and desperate for Hannibal to entertain him. Hannibal looked...indescribably pleased at the suggestion; set Will straight to work dredging the cutlets in egg and flour. The conversation was kept light as they focused on their tasks, but Will didn’t mind that, merely grateful for something to occupy his hands. It was when they turned towards each other and Hannibal’s eyes fell upon Will’s cheek, brought up a hand to swipe at the flour that dusted it in an almost affectionate gesture--

And Will lunged forward, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that had been building between them for half a decade. It was a sloppy thing, fumbled lips and clacking teeth and breaths gasped and held in surprise--not at all the desperate, passionate first kisses of soap operas and romantic comedies. It was perfect. And directly afterwards, when both had gotten their bearings and seemed to register that this was happening, Hannibal folded Will into his arms, ran a hand up to tangle into unruly chocolate curls to cradle him closer still, and their lips met softly, sweetly, as though they’d molded together a hundred times before.

They did not eat dinner that night, though they both woke fully sated and satisfied.

There was an inevitable shift after that. Breakfast conversation set plans for the day where there were none before; certainly they would both each spend some time in solitude, but far more often they opted to travel into the nearby town to stroll through the streets, visit the eclectic stores, or just lounge together on the beach. Will began to accompany Hannibal to the market to assist in procuring their groceries, though he considered never extending the offer again after the first trip that consisted of two insufferable hours of produce sniffing and frowning at cuts of meat.

Their nights were...well occupied.

They settled into a new sort of routine, one of a domestic bliss that Will could have never thought possible with Hannibal. Everything suddenly felt even easier than it had before. ...And then that damned piece of paper.

Will would catch Hannibal with it in the evening, eyes poring over it, sometimes scribbling a little something down. He spent more time with that one piece of folded paper--which lived comfortably and secure in the pocket of whatever trousers Hannibal happened to be wearing that day--than he did even on his sketches. Now and then, right in the midst of a conversation, Hannibal would pull it out and scribble something down and tuck it back away as though Will couldn’t even see him.

It made appearances at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Once, Will awoke in the middle of the night to relieve his bladder and returned from the bathroom to find Hannibal stashing it and a pen back away in the nightstand where it slumbered. Will was dying to know what was on it, refused to give in and outright ask about it; it would feel like a surrender, somehow. It stung, that after everything they’d been through Hannibal would elect to keep something from him.

Finally, half-mad with curiosity and entirely unwilling to suffer it any longer, Will devised a plan. He waited one day until that damnable piece of paper made an appearance and then disappeared back into the rear right pocket of Hannibal’s trousers. He then waited for a time until Hannibal rose from his seat to replace the book he’d scarcely been paying attention to back into its proper spot on the bookshelf. He sidled over to the man casually, wrapping his arms low around his waist and nuzzled against his neck briefly before tilting his head up for a sweet kiss. When Hannibal closed his eyes and pressed him close, Will struck, hand snaking quickly into the pocket to snag the paper and dancing backwards before Hannibal could react with his usual inhuman speed.

“Will,” he admonished, stepping forward in alarm even as Will scrambled to put furniture between them as hands, shaking with anticipation, opened the folded parchment. He paused, frowning at what greeted him. Jotted down in a list in Hannibal’s unerringly perfect script, was a set of numbers. Some had been crossed off, some had not.

The curiosity and frustration that had been swelling up in him crested, and Will wanted to rent the damnable thing to pieces for all the answers it gave him. “What is this?” he demanded instead, waving it around before studying the list once more. Maybe there was a pattern...no; just a list of numbers, one through thirty-seven, no discernible rhyme or reason as to which were crossed off and which were not.

Hannibal straightened, a mask that Will had scarcely witnessed upon him in the last several months sliding over his features. “My personal property,” he primly replied.

Will snorted, waving the paper once again. “C’mon, Hannibal. You of all people should know that there’s no longer anything sacred or secret between us. What is this?”

“A list,” was Hannibal’s unhelpful explanation and...was that a _blush_ darkening his cheeks?

“What do the numbers mean? Why are some crossed off and some aren’t?” he stepped back around the couch toward his lover, stiff and stoic from Will’s invasion of his privacy. He was no longer worried about the man retrieving the note back, now that he knew its contents would yield him with no answers. He needed Hannibal for that, as per fucking usual.

“It’s simply a list of things I wish to do,” Hannibal said shortly, and Will suddenly felt shamed for his greedy curiosity by the man’s embarrassment. “With you.”

Will closed the remaining distance, bending his head down to nuzzle against an unresponsive Hannibal. The full implications of the statement hit Will after a moment and he raised his eyes to peer up at his lover. “Tell me,” he insisted, but this time instead of a hostile demand it was a soft request, still brimming, however, with that insatiable curiosity.

Hannibal’s lips pursed, drawn taut into a relenting frown and he plucked the paper from Will’s fingers to glance it over. Will studied it with him. Items one through nine had been ticked off in succession; the strikings became more sporadic from there on out.

Beginning at the top, he dragged a finger over each number as he called them out. “Give oral sex, receive oral sex, make love in the shower, make love on the beach, sensory deprivation, bondage,” as he listed them off, Will remembered every instance that caused the number to be stricken from the list and a familiar heat bloomed in his stomach, spread through his body to encourage his cheeks to flame and his cock to thicken. “Oral anal stimulation (because Hannibal couldn’t just say rimming), cook breakfast together, read to each other, play a composition for you, go to the market, go out to eat, go fishing…” he’d strayed into some of the unmarked items and Will’s chest swelled with the realization that not every item on his agenda was sexual in nature.

“I thought you preferred cooking to eating out,” Will pointed out in a mumble, attempting to quell the embarrassment that welled within him when it turned out that this secret of Hannibal’s was more wholesome than he could have expected.

“That doesn’t mean I would deny the opportunity to put you in a suit and take you to dinner, Will.”

Will swallowed thickly over the lump that had formed in his throat. “I had no idea you wanted to go fishing…”

“It's your activity, Will. I wouldn’t want to impose on your solitude. Though I wouldn’t abandon the chance to share it with you, if you wished.”

Will glanced at the list between them once more, heat blossoming further over his cheeks to spread down his neck. “Many of these things we haven’t done,” he pointed out.

“I know,” Hannibal purred.

Will shifted closer, allowing his body to brush along Hannibal’s warm and solid form. “Perhaps we should remedy that,” he murmured, tilting his head forward to brush his lips along the smooth column of Hannibal’s neck. “How about that one?” he asked, pointing to number seventeen.

Hannibal snorted softly in response. “We haven’t the supplies for that one.”

Will didn’t inquire as to what sort of supplies they lacked. “Twenty-eight?”

A brief pause before Hannibal cleared his throat. “I’m not entirely sure we’re up to that one just yet.”

Will raised an eyebrow at that, peered up at the doctor quizzically, though the man was giving no other hints beyond the vague response. “Fourteen then?”

A sly grin spread over Hannibal’s lips at the suggestion.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who found a new concept to turn into endless drabbles for a new series? *points to self* This girl.
> 
> From time to time I'll update this series with random number selections from Hannibal's kink list. If you have any suggestions you would like to see, please comment below! I have some ideas but knowing this insatiable bastard I'm bound to need the assistance of you lovely folks.


End file.
